


The Doors to Other Dimensions are Open

by hal_incandenza



Series: Shattered Cup Series [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - This World Inverted (Shadowhunters TV), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Coming Out, Episode: s01e10 This World Inverted, First Kiss, Gen, M/M, Minor Clizzy :), Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6728305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hal_incandenza/pseuds/hal_incandenza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are there any side effects? Of dimension-hopping?”</p><p>“It depends,” said Magnus. “Some travelers say so. Not many shadowhunters have made the trip, though. Are you experiencing something in particular?”</p><p>“No,” Alec lied. </p><p>Ever since Jace went through the seelie portal, Alec has been having dreams—visions of parallel worlds like that one. Lydia is hatching a plan, Magnus is sharing poetry, the Lightwood siblings are working on talking things out. And in light of these alternate lives, Alec considers his choices in this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Search Party

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is my first time posting any fanfiction anywhere ever—I've written various stuff over the years, but never shared it—so this is exciting and scary for me. Writing this, I wanted to explore Alec's inner life, his values and internal conflicts, and especially his role as an oldest sibling. I wanted to use that to make an alternate, more detailed version of how he might decide to be with Magnus. And I just love a good parallel timeline, like "This World Inverted" or any dream/AU sequence on any show, really, i love that shit. So here's a story with a bunch of those!

_Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets_

_And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes_

_Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ..._

 

1.

“Over there!”

Lydia’s footsteps pounded behind him. Alec was sprinting through the seelie forest, and there it was—a glowing circle—Jace was there, he could feel it. He burst through the line of trees, flying down the slope towards the portal—and before his eyes, saw it wink shut.

“What?” he gasped, jogging to a stop. It was gone. So was Jace. He felt dizzy.

“By the angel,” came Lydia’s voice. “They went through?” He leaned on the arch, trying to catch his breath. The bond-weakening had really done a number on his stamina—

“Ah!” he winced. The parabatai rune on his waist suddenly burned.

“Alec? Are you okay?”

There—another burst of pain from his hip—worse than when Hodge had weakened the bond. Jace must be doing something, he thought through the haze of pain. Something bad.

Another wave of pain crashed over him, and Alec was aware of sticks and leaves and hard ground. Lydia's voice sounded miles away. But behind his squeezed-shut eyelids he saw... a room? A colorfully-lit room, full of people? It was the Institute, he realized, lit up like a nightclub. _What?_ And he was sipping a drink from what was, he saw, a teacup. What sort of fever-induced nightmare was this? He recognized his own hands, but not his clothes—the kind of suit you would wear to this kind of gala—and he recognized his sister nearby, but not her glasses or prom-like dress.

The pain in Alec’s hip was fading in and out, as was his vision. He could see as if through his own eyes, but he wasn’t in control of his body. He was walking over to Izzy. His mouth opened and he was asking her, _“Good party or what?”_

_“Awesome!” replied Izzy brightly. “In fact, good news—Simon just asked me to move in together!”_

Alec’s eyebrows were raising and his mouth grinning, only dimly aware of the part of himself still curled on the forest floor. _The vampire?_ he thought hazily.

_“Wow, congratulations!” he was saying, and hugging his sister. He heard a muffled ‘thanks!’ from near his armpit. “Listen, have you seen Jace and Clary?”_

_“Oh, yeah, I saw them,” said Izzy. “Jace went after Clary a minute ago. She had gone to the basement I think.”_

_“The basement?”_

_“Yeah and she was with—it’s crazy but, I think it was that psychic guy? The one from TV?”_

_“Psychic?” said Alec._

_“Oh you know, the one with the corny commercials, what is it... Bane, Magnus Bane!”_

_Alec raised his eyebrows. The name gave him a strange sense of déjà vu. Why, Magnus Bane, that was the handsome man he’d just let into the party. But the name was more familiar than that... it stirred deep in his memory, like a dream he’d once had..._

_"At least, I think it was him,” Isabelle was saying, “but I—uh, Alec?”_

_Alec was moving away. He had to find Jace, and talk to Magnus, and he didn’t know why. His feet were moving towards the basement door—_

Alec... Alec...!

_A voice, a hand shaking his shoulder._

“Alec, I’m calling for help,” said the voice, “I think Jace is doing something to your bond, something worse than you did... Can you hear me Alec?”

His eyes fluttered open. Trees. The lights from the Institute gala were still blinking on his retinas.

“I saw... weird...”

“Hold on Alec, I’m calling the In—Yes, Hodge, hello. It’s Alec. Something’s wrong, he just collapsed. Something about the bond. No, no sign of Jace or Clary...”

“Basement,” murmured Alec. His eyes slid shut, and he saw it again: his suit-wearing dream-self, descending the basement stairs—cracking his knuckles nervously, just like real Alec always did. The longer he stayed with this Alec, the further away his own conscious slipped, like falling asleep. He forced his eyes open, breathing hard on the forest floor. He was so sore, so sore... _where was Jace?_ He closed his eyes, and saw himself ducking behind some shelves. _There they were. Magnus was standing over Clary, who was supporting Jace, who was clutching his throat. Blood. A lot of blood._ Oh no, _thought Alec. He froze behind the shelf—Clary’s voice was panicked, and Magnus was giving her instructions, and then they stepped forward, towards a shimmering purple wall._ Are they gonna go _through_ that? _he thought in surprise, and he stepped out, just as they stepped through—Magnus turned and for a wild second their eyes met—_

The vision vanished, and Alec was lying in the dirt and pine needles, Lydia barking instructions into the phone, the tree trunks stretching up above, up to the stars, impossibly high...

*  *  *

Alec faded into consciousness briefly in the infirmary, a pair of glowing golden eyes swimming above him. He drifted back into darkness. Dreams locked doors, of Jace running, always a few steps ahead... he saw a familiar face transform, he saw the mortal cup card fluttering away, he saw... a glow behind his eyelids, flickering... and game show music.

_He was asleep on the couch again._

_He sat up. “I’m so sorry. I’m a terrible date.”_

_“Nonsense,” said Magnus from the other end of the couch. “I know you had a long day. We had a lovely dinner, and you are very cute when you sleep—” Alec laughed softly “—no apology needed. Do you want to head home?”_

_Alec hesitated. Magnus smiled. He smiled so much more since they’d started dating, and it made Alec’s heart swell up every time. He did not want to head home. What he wanted was lean over there and run his hands through his boyfriend’s outrageous and perfect hair..._

_“What time is it?”_

_“About 11:30.”_

_“How about I go at midnight?”_

_“Sure,” said Magnus with another beautiful smile. “What to do for the next half hour, then?” he said. “There’s always more Family Feud...”_

_“There is,” said Alec, smiling. “But I have another idea...”_

_“Oh really?” said Magnus._

_“Yeah...” said Alec, leaning in towards his boyfriend, who smiled..._

He didn’t know how much later, but it felt like no time at all when his eyes opened again. Infirmary. White pillow. Some drool. He was too dazed to move, and the dream—oh god. That was humiliating. The details were already trickling away, he felt, with both relief and regret. But it was a date, definitely a date, definitely with Magnus. It had felt so real. Alec shuddered.

He blinked and rolled over. Sitting next to the bed, reading a paperback, was Izzy.

“Alec!” she said, looking up. “You’re awake.”

“Unfortunately,” he said, pulling the blanket up. “What happened?”

“Jace and Clary legged it through a seelie portal and you collapsed. It was a special portal, an inter-dimensional one. They went into some parallel universe and that put some additional strain on your bond, according to Magnus.”

“Magnus?” said Alec. He felt his voice rise. “Magnus was here?”

“Yeah, he stopped by last night. Parents hired him to track Jace and Clary. They had a little luck with the tracking, so the Clave sent a search party to catch them and the cup. My trial is suspended until they’re caught.”

Alec exhaled. “It’s good that the tracking worked,” he said, “but what happens if they’re caught. Is the Clave going to arrest them? Are you all going to be on trial?”

“No, I’m sure once they get the cup, the Clave will lose interest in us,” Izzy said, turning a page in her book.

“What if they don’t?” Alec said. “What if they throw Jace in jail?”

“Jace _and_ Clary,” muttered Izzy.

“Whatever,” said Alec. “What if he gets stripped of his runes? Isn’t he still in trouble for freeing Meliorn, are they going to double-prosecute him? What are they going to do with the cup? Are they going to bargain with Valentine—?”

“Alec, please, relax,” said Izzy, looking up again. “All we can do is wait.”

She patted his arm.

“You overthink everything.”

Alec groaned and laid back in his bed. Of course he did. He was the responsible one, he had to! Being a leader meant balancing every choice and then choosing as correctly as time allowed. Alec knew that, and in the heat of battle, it wasn’t a problem. Instinct was enough. But in situations where he had time to think, in personal matters, he felt obligated not to shut off the what-ifs. He was standing in a hallway with hundreds of doors, a hundred possible choices, and he couldn’t open one without thinking about what might be behind the other ninety nine.

This nagging obligation had dogged him as long as he could remember—at least as long as he’d been an older brother. A duty to his parents not just to be the best he could possibly be, but to set an example for the siblings. To take care of them, to keep them in check. _Their failures are your failures,_ said a dark part of his heart. _Their failures are your failures,_ his parents’ disappointed tone said. No one said it aloud, but he lived believing it.

All Alec said was, "Whatever."

*  *  *

He drifted off again for a while—minutes or hours, he didn’t know—and when he finally woke fully, there was a new figure beside his bed.

“Magnus,” he said. He tried to sound calm, not to betray the hopeless leap of his heart.

“Alexander,” said the warlock. “How are you feeling?”

“What are you doing here?”

Magnus smiled. “I wanted to see how you were. You were in rough shape last night.”

“You were here?” Alec said.

“Oh yes, the Institute called me in to track your friends, but I stopped by.”

“You were in my dream too,” said Alec without thinking.

“Was I?” said Magnus brightly. “What _kind_ of dream...?”

“Uh,” said Alec. “Nevermind. I—I have a question. Interdimensional portals?”

“Yes, special faerie skill,” said Magnus, gesturing with a manicured hand. “Their demonic-angelic blood, or some such. They can open doors to other realities, and it seems that when one parabatai steps through, their bond is strained. Jace went through, and your connection went haywire.”

“Right,” said Alec. “I saw a little of the other universe, when Jace was in there. I guess there was an Alec Lightwood in that universe. I saw a little of his life.” Alec wrinkled his nose. “It was weird.”

“How so?”

“Just weird,” said Alec. “But my question was um—are there any side effects? Of that kind of dimension-hopping?”

“It depends,” said Magnus. “Some travelers say so. Not many shadowhunters have made the trip though. Are you experiencing something in particular?”

“No,” Alec lied. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t like... temporally displaced.”

“I certainly hope not,” said Magnus. “I read _The Time Traveler’s Wife,_ and I do not envy her situation.”

Alec gave a small smile.

Magnus gazed back at him. For a moment, they stared at each other in silence, the smile fading from Alec’s lips. It was just a joke, but the implication—that Magnus might wait for him like that, even if he was dislodged from linear time—was a serious one for a joking flirt. _Was_ Magnus joking? Would Alec ever have the nerve to respond? Could they _actually_...?

Alec broke the contact, dropping his eyes.

“Speaking of books,” said Magnus, “Books of a much, much higher caliber—I brought you something.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim paperback.

“A book?” said Alec.

“Yes, one very dear to my heart. I thought you might need a distraction, here on bedrest and waiting for your parabatai and all that. And I wanted to share it with you.” He held up the cover: _Prufrock and Other Observations._ “It’s T. S. Eliot. Perhaps his most famous poem, and considered clichéd by some—but it’s one of my favorites.”

Alec didn’t know what to say. Magnus had brought him _poetry_?

“Um. Thanks, that’s—that’s, thank you.”

Magnus smiled and placed the book down on Alec’s bedside table. “Let me know how you like it.”

Alec only nodded.

“Well, I’d better go,” said Magnus, straightening up. “If you do start feeling any side effects, let me know.”

Alec shifted and cracked his knuckles. “Uh, thanks for um, thanks for the book,” he said. “And for visiting.”

“Of course.” Magnus stood. “Even under such dire circumstances, it’s nice to see you, Alec. It’s always nice to see you.”

Magnus reached down and took Alec’s hand, where it lay at his side on the bed. Alec’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Their hands fit together and his skin was warm. Magnus just gave a quick squeeze and let go, turning and disappearing through the infirmary door—leaving Alec, heart racing, mouth open, hand still warm. He watched the doors swing behind the warlock. Inside, he felt a door opening. Magnus had visited him, Magnus had held his hand, brought him poetry. This was real, a real chance.

For a moment, Magnus felt within reach.

*  *  *

_“And Alec, you would not believe how creepy her art is. This tiny sweet ginger, with the most gruesome demons in every painting! So beautiful...” Izzy said dreamily._

_“The demons, or the girl?” said Alec teasingly. She elbowed him. They were walking home the long way, through the park._

_“The girl,_ duh _,” she said. “We always chat after class. I’m going to ask her out next time.”_

_“Not going to test the waters on her sexuality, just diving right in?” said Alec, stopping next to the creek, below the bridge._

_“Diving in,” confirmed Izzy. “She’s the kind of girl where I know what kind of relationship I’m interested in.”_

_“Dating or nothing... you’re a brave one, Isabelle Lightwood,” Alec said, shaking his head. His sister grinned._

_“I know,” she said. She pointed over the bridge, towards where their home was. “You coming? Or are you going to sit on your bench for an hour?”_

_“I like this spot, okay? It’s my stop and smell the roses spot,” said Alec. “I like the ducks! You go on ahead, I’ll be home soon.”_

_“Fine...” Izzy went with a smirk and Alec sat. It was just a bench next to a small wooden bridge over an artificial creek, but Alec found it peaceful. Sunlight filtered down from the trees overhead, and the ducks chased breadcrumbs. He watched them absently, thinking about work._

_His eyes landed on the breadcrumb-thrower on the bridge—a lean guy with broad shoulders, wearing a suit and sequined shoes._ Bizarre shoes, _thought Alec. But that kind of statement is all about confidence, and the breadcrumb man, leaning on the bridge railing, seemed completely at ease. Maybe this was his smell-the-roses spot too._

_But Alec had looked too long and the man had seen him. Alec’s face grew hot and he tried to look away, while also flailing his hand in a sort of greeting spasm._

_The man winked._

_“Breadcrumb?” he called, holding up his bag._

_Alec, dumbfounded, pointed to himself._ Me?

_“Of course you!” said the man. “What’s wrong, never fed a duck before?”_

_Alec’s felt like his face was probably beet-red, but he stood, crossed the path, and mounted the three steps to the bridge. He found he was a few inches taller than the stranger, who was cute up close, and holding out his breadcrumb bag._ Very _cute. Alec reached into the bag._

_“Thanks,” he said._

_“Anytime!” said the stranger. “I come here every week, I love these ducks. I don’t think they recognize me though. Ducks are pretty dumb.”_

_Alec laughed. He realized he was still standing there with his hand in the breadcrumb bag._

_“Uh—oh, oh I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his hand away._

_The other man smiled. “No, please. Take as much as you want.”_

_Alec smiled, if possible, wider. He turned and leaned on the railing as the stranger had been doing, and tossed the bread down. The ducks hastened over. The man turned as well and sprinkled some more down, his shoulder just brushing Alec’s._

_“I’m Magnus, by the way,” the man said, looking over at him and smiling._

_“Alec,” said Alec, grinning back._

*   *   *

Alec awoke in his own bed, dreams and sleep fading slowly. He remembered... a bridge. That bridge in the park by the Institute, he thought. The details were gone but the dream left him with that vivid impression once again, that _real_ feeling. Like he had passed through a doorway in his sleep, and was just now stepping back through, into his world. One foot was still in the door, and it was... it was weird. It was too early for this. Alec groaned and sat up.

His eye fell on his bedside table. The little book sat there, unassuming and old, as yet unopened. Alec reached out and picked it up.

 _Prufrock and Other Observations, by T. S. Eliot. 1917._ He gingerly opened it for the first time. The paper was aged and worn. The first pages had only the publishing house and the year, no copyright, no edition number. Was this a _first_ edition? Alec felt his heart skip. This was too much, Magnus trusted him too much. He shut the book and got out of bed.

It had been three days since Jace and Clary had run off with the cup, two since Jace had gone through the faerie portal the night before last. Most of Alec’s strength had returned, but he had a sore throat and intermittent shivers—Jace’s illness, whatever it was, was affecting Alec too.

The morning briefing updated them on the search for Jace and Clary: the Idris search party was following Magnus’s tracking info, and they were closing in on the fugitives. Alec took Lydia aside to ask if he could help the search party, but she told him no. Conflict of interest, and “you still aren’t well enough to work,” she said. “Let us do our job here. The Clave is taking over and the Lightwoods need to accept that.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “I don’t like shunting you aside like this, Alec, but in terms of diplomatic and political moves... you might want to focus on wedding stuff.”

Alec raised his eyebrows.

“Right,” he said.

She made an _I’m-sorry_ face, stiffly patted his arm, and then went. A buzz of pain ran through Alec’s throat. She was right.

*   *   *

Alec and Izzy spent the day in his room, flipping restlessly through catalogues from Idris. Focusing on the wedding was a mix of comforting practicality, and dread. Every few minutes Alec thought of the other pastime available to him—sitting just across the room by his bed, waiting—then tried to re-focus on the vapid task before him.

“Did you see Magnus yesterday?” Izzy asked, late in the afternoon. “I saw him heading to the infirmary, was he visiting you?”

Alec didn’t answer.

“How did it go? Did you guys talk?”

Alec turned a catalog page loudly.

“Alec.”

He sighed. “Yes, we talked. He said I might have some side effects from the portal jump. He brought... we talked about stuff. Nothing interesting.”

Izzy smiled. “Did he _bring_ you something?”

“No,” said Alec, but his eyes flew to his bedside table.

“You’re such a bad liar! What was it?”

“It’s nothing. I’m going to give it back,” said Alec, looking back quickly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Izzy shook her head. “You’re never going to get anywhere if you keep bottling everything up,” she said, but dropped the subject.

The light from his windows lengthened, the streetlights outside lit up. They were both waiting, Izzy waiting on her own fate, Alec on Jace’s. Which might as well have been his own.

Alec felt a sick mixture of anger and worry when he thought about Jace. Concern for whatever physical ailment was affecting him, anger at him for flouting the law, for choosing Clary over him. It wasn't a jealousy thing, he told himself. They were parabatai—partners.

The wedding planning was bringing his romantic history to the surface in a way Alec wished he could ignore. Wedding catalogues. Suits and tablecloths and cakes. The trappings of a forced romance. Across the room, the book of poems from an impossible one. It was dredging up memories.

No, it _wasn't_ a jealousy thing, not anymore. It had been years—long, formative years—of feelings, of telling himself they were a side effect of the parabatai bond. But he knew Jace didn’t feel the same. Alec never got used to watching Jace put himself in harm’s way, no matter how many battles, no matter how well they protected each other. And no matter how many times he watched Jace flirt with a girl, Alec never got used to the splinter of sadness in his chest. And no matter how many mornings Jace stumbled into the bathroom to brush his teeth beside Alec, his golden hair mussed and eyes heavy with sleep, Alec had never been able to look at his parabatai without a twist in his gut. A twist of longing

And there were other boys. Alec kept to himself mostly, but he liked Dunkin Donuts iced coffee, and at the shop he frequented, there was a cute night shift cashier. Santiago. Santiago would smile and tell him not to worry about the 11 cents. Alec had daydreamed about him for a while. One night, when Alec was in a rush, Santiago had handed him his drink with a wink, and when Alec got outside he realized the cup had a phone number on it. The warmth that blossomed in his chest—surprise, flattery, affection—was a dearly held memory.

Alec now cracked his knuckles, turning a page in some furniture rental magazine. He preferred not to think about the awkward secret date that had come after, and the subsequent change of coffeeshop. Or the time in Idris, when, after one too many glasses of wine, he had made out with an equally inebriated young shadowhunter. The dark hallway of someone’s estate house, the rush of another boy’s lips and hands—swept up in the moment—until Alec had gotten ahold of himself and pulled away. He’d returned to the party, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his heart heavy and Jace’s perfect smile looming in his mind. Alec thought back often on that kiss, sometimes with guilt, sometimes with warmth. It had been a moment of passion and honesty and connection, one of the few in his restrained life.

He shut the magazine and looked at his sister, who caught his glance and raised her eyebrows expectantly—waiting for him to say something. She knew he didn't want to marry Lydia, but she couldn't pry it out of him. She could only wait for him to open up.

He looked at the book on his bedside table. He had spent two whole days not reading it, imagining what might be inside. He’d built it up too much—whatever words it held couldn’t stand up to his wild imaginings. Now really reading it would be a letdown. He _always_ did this.

 _This._ What was this? Feelings? Alec had tried to deny it but he couldn’t ignore the warmth he felt upon seeing, even just thinking of Magnus. Unmistakable, indistinguishable from what he’d felt for Jace.

But were these feelings real? Either of them? Or was Alec just in love with the possibilities he saw in these men? Were they just an escapist fantasy for a romantically frustrated gay kid? He didn’t know a thing about love or dating, only crushes. And crushes can lie. _Things are never as good as you imagine they could be,_ he thought to himself, _never_.

Izzy was still looking at him, waiting for him to speak. It seemed to Alec that if he opened his mouth, all this would come rushing out. So he kept it shut.

*  *  *

Late in the evening, word came that the search party was closing in on the cup. Alec and Izzy headed down together.

The Institute war room was bustling with unfamiliar faces. Clave agents were fanned around Lydia, taking up stations usually occupied by the Lightwood operation. The delicacy of storming a vampire stronghold, to reach two of their own, without harming any vampires or alerting them to what the two shadowhunters possessed—tension was high. But Lydia seemed calmer than ever, exuding the professionalism with which she had arrived.

“Main feed is on,” said someone.

“Put it on the big screen,” said Lydia. A shaky camera image appeared on the main screen, showing the front door of the Hotel Dumort. There was a muffled knock.

“Camille,” said someone next to the cameraperson. “Open up. You are harboring two fugitives. We just want the shadowhunters—hand them over and we guarantee diplomatic immunity. If you surrender the fugitives, we won’t consider this a violation of the Accords.”

An intercom crackled. A smooth voice—Raphael’s, Alec thought—spoke. “Camille is not available. We have your shadowhunters, but one is in bad shape. We are treating him.”

“We can treat his injuries” said the Clave agent.

“Transportation might be risky.”

“Tell him it’s not negotiable,” Lydia said into her mic.

“Hand them over now, or immunity is off the table.”

“Trespass on our property, we’ll see what the court says about the Accords.”

“Who says you didn’t poison our shadowhunter?” said the Clave agent. “Go ahead, take us to court, vampire. This is a legal gray area and you know who wins in a gray area. But I’d love to watch you squirm.”

Silence from Raphael.

“They don’t want to come with you. I can’t make them. I can give you ten minutes to convince them, but if you touch a single vam—”

“That’s a go,” said Lydia. The Clave team didn’t wait for Raphael to finish. The cameraman’s leg appeared and he kicked the door open. “Move move move!” someone called, and the screen darkened. Forms moved, distant voices called out. Izzy gripped Alec’s arm. The camera moved up a staircase, scattering blurry vampires. “Jace Wayland! Clary Fairchild! This is the Clave. You are both under arrest. Surrender now and make this easy for everyone.”

Footsteps echoed offscreen. “Fan out. Gray team first floor and second floor, gold team third and fourth, green team fifth and sixth, my team seven and penthouse. Subdue any vampires who get in the way.”

“Turn on a camera from each team,” ordered Lydia, and three new videos appeared on the screen. Four agents bobbed down four hallways, busting open doors and yelling. Vampires in those rooms hissed at the shadowhunters. “Vampire scum,” muttered one of the cameramen. Alec felt dizzy watching four moving cameras—he looked away.

“In here!” said a voice on the top left video feed. They surged into a room with a row of white beds—all made except one. They caught a glimpse of tubes and machinery, and what looked like a rack of empty bloodbags. Alec rubbed his inner elbow.

“Door down there!” said another voice, and the team rushed towards the open door at the other end of the infirmary.

“Jace Wayland!” The agent’s voice echoed down the dark hall. “Clary Fairchild. Come out with your hands up.”

There was a clatter and a shout down the hall. “There!”

“Freeze!”

“Hands where we can see them!”

The camera surged forward and two figures appeared in the gloom—Clary’s pale face, shocked and furious, her arms around a hunched-over Jace. Neither put up their hands. Jace was leaning on Clary and clutching a blood bag. His throat was bandaged and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Stay where you are,” said one of the agents. Jace shuddered. Alec, standing on the Institute floor, shuddered.

“Where’s the cup?” asked an agent, seizing Clary’s upper arm.

Clary jerked her arm away. “Get your hands off me,” she said. “He’s sick. Leave him alone.” The agent was pulling her away from Alec’s parabatai. “Get _off!_ Jace!”

Jace coughed as another agent grabbed him. The agent took the blood bag and yanked Jace’s arms behind his back. “Don’t resist. Make it easy for yourselves.”

“Don’t arrest me,” panted Jace. “Make it... easy... for you...” He collapsed.

Alec didn’t see, because the screen disappeared from view as the Institute floor rushed up towards him. His last thought was, _at least they’re safe._

*  *  *

_The wood paneled ceiling frowned at him. Alec frowned back. He couldn’t sleep. He sort of knew why, but didn’t want to think about it. His phone glowed in the dark next to him, and he considered picking it up. A new text and it could only be from one person. His boyfriend..._

Boyfriend _._

_Alec never would have believed it, truly. After so long, after so much hopeless, guarded dreaming, the reality was... still unbelievable. He was still in shock, he told himself, even after a month. That was the problem. Just that._

_He picked up his phone and read the message._

Hey. You awake?

Hey _, he texted back._ What’s up?

Nothing, _came the reply immediately_. Can’t sleep.

Me neither, _Alec said_. At least we suffer together.

Ooh, romantic, _replied his boyfriend._ Now, when you say ‘together,’ did you mean...?

 _Alec felt himself blush—_ actually _blush. Flirting..._

Did I? _he replied._

I’ll be right over.

_Alec’s heart was beating fast. A mix of anticipation and dread trickled through his chest. A moment later, the door opened, and his boyfriend slipped into his room._

_“Hey,” he whispered, shutting the door._

_“Hey, Jace,” Alec whispered, sitting up in his bed._

_Jace was across the room in no time, sitting down on the bed next to Alec’s hip. Their parabatai runes were inches apart._

_“Trouble sleeping?” he whispered._

_“Mm,” said Alec. “You too?”_

_“Yeah,” said Jace. His bright hair and teeth were all Alec could see in the gloom. He shifted, resting his hand on the mattress on the other side of Alec’s hips. Alec’s heartrate increased. It was years of anticipation and desire pumping through his veins, deep reserves._

_“You know any remedies for insomnia?”_

_“Not really,” whispered Alec bluntly._

_Jace laughed quietly. “You’re a terrible flirt,” he said, leaning in. Alec’s stomach reeled and their lips met. Jace’s beautiful, perfect lips on his... he closed his eyes. He tried to disappear in the moment, to feel lost and lusty and in love. It was just like he had imagined, just like he’d always imagined... and he felt empty. Jace pushed him down, his mouth everywhere, and Alec slid his hands across his parabatai’s back, his heart thumping. It_ was _like he’d always dreamed, right down to the splinter of doubt in his chest. The doubt he'd always had, that his feelings immoral, that his heart was lying, that his fantasies were baseless, that the reality would never ever be as good—and it wasn’t. It was all wrong._

*      *      *

_[[title from](http://davidfosterwallaceandgromit.tumblr.com/post/142615718303) ; [epigraph from](http://people.virginia.edu/~sfr/enam312/prufrock.html) ]_


	2. Flinched

_and all the bottles you throw_

_they would be lost at sea;_

_and you could take my letters_

_and rearrange the words—_

_you could read them backwards_

_until you liked what you heard_

_2._

_“A letter?”_

_“Yeah, that’s what I said. For you. Here.”_

_“A... a letter? Like with a stamp?”_

_“That’s how letters usually... just take it, Alec!” Izzy thrust it into his hands. He turned the letter over and there it was: the familiar cursive script. His stomach dropped._

_“The return address is Argentina,” observed Izzy as Alec stared at it. “Maybe he’s coming to town for the party—he hasn’t RSVP’d, but...”_

_“Maybe...” murmured Alec. “I—gotta go,” he said louder, and abruptly turned._

_Alec hurried to his room and shut the door. Postmarked from Buenos Aires, addressed to_ Alexander Lightwood _in neat cursive. It had been years since the last letter. He had almost given up on dreaming of such generosity from his... ex-almost? Years had dulled the regret and embarrassment of the almost-ness, the grey area they had floated in before drifting apart. But this... another letter..._

 _Alec set it down on his desk. He had other tasks this morning. His sister’s anniversary was in a week, and there were demons harassing pedestrians on the High Line. But for a moment he paused, staring at the letter. Then he crossed the room, reached behind the poetry section of his bookshelf, and pulled out the box. He put the box on his desk, then the new letter on top of it._ The new letter. _Then he left, hope budding in his chest for the first time in years._

*  *  *

_It wound up taking Alec hours to get back—sore and exhausted, still hopeful. But he didn’t go straight to the letter, not yet. First he showered, then changed, drawing a ceremonial maze around this letter._

_At last, past eleven, he sat down. He cracked his knuckles and lifted the letter._ _He ran his fingers over the script._ Alexander Lightwood. _The writer had pressed the pen so hard, he could feel the letters carved into the envelope’s surface._ Alexander _. He closed his eyes._

 _Magnus had moved to Argentina soon after their... whatever. And if he had ever visited New York since, he had not gotten in touch._ Until now.

_Did he deserve this? A second chance, if that’s what it was? Or a reprimand? (He definitely deserved a reprimand.) Fear had gotten the better of him fifteen years ago. Now he was in his mid-thirties, a venerated fighter and diplomat. And alone. Brave in battle or at the negotiating table, building bridges between nations and factions. But in the quiet bridges between himself and others... he never had the nerve. The nerve to find out what was on the other side._

_Alec took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Too many years of wondering. It was time to find out._

Dear Alexander,

I will be in town for Isabelle and Clary’s anniversary party this coming Friday. I have other business in the city so I will be arriving early, on Thursday.

I know it has been years, but I still feel that some things remained unsaid between us. It’s possible you feel everything was said. But if you don’t, I invite you to meet me this Thursday. I will be in that park by the Institute, at midnight, on the bridge.

I sincerely hope to see you then.

Magnus.

_Alec’s heart was thumping. Thursday. That was tonight. He looked at the clock—11:21. He only had a half hour to decide._

11:22. _This was the chance he’d waited for—but he couldn’t. He swallowed, and squeezed his eyes shut._ Could _he?_

11:25. _He stared, looking from letter to clock and back again._ _Alec sat stock still at the edge of the precipice. Now it was 11:37._ _With a creeping horror, he realized he was going to let the hour pass. He was going to sit there and watch that clock turn to midnight, and past it, and he wasn’t going to go._  11:43. He _was going to leave Magnus, sweet, generous, beautiful Magnus, alone. Again._

11:50 _. The door was closing. He wasn’t going to step through._

Midnight _._

_Alec reached out and slowly dusted off the box. He opened the lid and looked for a moment at its contents—one unopened letter. Fifteen years old, its Brooklyn return address in neat cursive script. With great heaviness, Alec placed the new letter on top of the old._

_He closed the box._

*   *   *

Pounding on his door pulled Alec out of the dream. Like rising out of deep water, he surfaced, breathing unsteady. He was in his room, and someone outside was telling him there was a briefing. Ten minutes. Alec blinked, then groaned and covered his eyes. Not enough sleep... and a dream... about... something. That transient feeling again, of one foot in the wrong time and place. His heartbeat not quite in sync with his breathing. He remembered nothing of the dream, but he _felt_ something. An imprint of deep regret.

It had been a day since Jace and Clary’s capture. After, embarrassingly, fainting in front of everyone, Alec had woken up to see Jace safely brought into the infirmary. He’d spent most of the previous day sitting by his parabatai’s bed, waiting for him to wake up so he could tear him a new one. Clary, who was under house arrest while the Clave conferred about her fate, sat by Jace with him. She hadn’t tried making conversation, so Alec hadn’t minded. But Jace, though stable, had not woken up.

Alec sat up and looked at his bedside table. The little book sat there, unassuming and old, as yet unopened. He reached out and picked it up. Maybe in rebellion against the negative feelings from his dream, or just dazed with sleepiness, he opened it, and turned to the first poem. A slip of paper fluttered out—this must have been the one Magnus was talking about. Alec looked around. He had less than ten minutes... He looked back at the page.

_Let us go then, you and I,_

_When the evening is spread out against the sky_

_Like a patient etherized upon a table;_

Alec realized he was holding his breath. He let it out and looked at the clock. He didn’t have time—but he felt a glow in his chest... the words flowed so easily together, forming a direct line between him and Magnus. For a second he was frozen with indecision—read it now in a rush, or read it later, properly? He stared at the crease between the pages, unable to decide—

“Alec!” Someone was outside, pounding on the door. Alec jumped, closing the book. “Meeting!”

“Coming,” he called back.

*   *   *

“Thank you all for coming,” said Lydia. “And thank you to the team from Idris, for such a smooth operation yesterday. The cup is recovered, the fugitives are in custody, and Clary Fairchild has given us a full report on what happened.”

Alec was standing, arms folded, against the wall in the conference room. He was the youngest shadowhunter there—his siblings and Clary had not been invited. Visiting Idris agents were seated around the table, with New York Institute members standing around the walls, and Lydia on foot at the head of the room.

“After an all-night session yesterday in Idris, orders came down this morning: we are to use the cup to capture Valentine. As we know, he has kidnapped Jocelyn Fairchild, as well as several downworlders, the seelie scouts and a few warlocks. This, along with his illegal experimentation, is in violation of both Clave law and the Accords. We want to apprehend him before the situation escalates further. And, since he almost succeeded in getting the cup from Clary Fairchild two days ago, the Clave believes he is confident enough to fall for a trap.”

Alec and Hodge exchanged looks. Lydia turned on the screen behind her and gestured at the assembled shadowhunters.

“It’s our job to make a plan in the next few hours. We’ll sketch an outline and then assign subtasks to groups and begin preparations by this afternoon.” She looked down at her tablet. “Okay, so that’s the briefin. Planning will begin now. Nonessential personnel can go.”

There was an uneasy silence. No one moved.

Lydia looked up. “That means,” she said, “Idris agents only. We’ll call the rest of you when we have tasks for you.”

 _Ouch_. Around him, the New York shadowhunters shuffled out resentfully but obediently. Alec raised an eyebrow. Lydia met his eyes for a second and gave a tiny shrug. Alec didn’t hold it against her—Clave orders—but he had been looking forward to having something to do. He raised his eyebrows slightly at his fiancée, and went.

* * *

“Of course I’ll fill you in, Izzy, but I’m sure it will be pretty straightforward,” said Alec, as bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet. She focused on his hands and punched twice, bouncing back again. They were practicing—training was the only distraction left.

“I just can’t stand being on the sidelines like this,” said Izzy, panting and squaring up. “It was one thing when they were looking for Clary and Jace—that was a conflict of interest. But not letting us help with Valentine? Do they really mistrust us _that_ much?”

“It’s not that they think we’re undercover Circle,” said Alec curtly, shifting as Izzy landed two more punches on his practice mitts. “It’s our recent incompetence. We haven’t exactly been following orders here at the New York Institute, lately." She rolled her eyes. “Izzy, do I need to remind you that you intercepted a Clave prisoner last week? They may have dropped those charges, but you’re still on probation.”

“What about you?” said Izzy. “Will your _fiancée_ call you once she has a plan?”

“Don’t know,” said Alec, shaking his hands to loosen his wrists as she squared up again. “We’ll see, I guess.”

“Seriously?” said Izzy, shaking her head. “You’re just going to sit and wait for orders? Still? You didn’t do anything, you don’t deserve to be benched—”

She swiped forward again, but Alec sidestepped her blow.

“Seriously, _you’re_ asking what I did to deserve punishment?” said Alec. “I’m a Lightwood. Our name is getting dragged through the mud. Your mistakes are my mistakes.” He dropped his hands and stepped back. Would his little siblings _ever_ understand that?

Izzy’s looked surprised, but also annoyed. “Alec, I was just—”

“Just doing what you thought was right, I know,” interrupted Alec, waving a mitt. “Been hearing that a lot lately.”

“Well you need to hear it!” said Izzy, folding her arms. “You spend too much time doing what you’re told, and not enough time doing what _you_ think is right! You’re always listening to your head, never your heart.”

“What _I_ think is right?” said Alec. He pulled off his boxing gloves. “I _do_ do what I think is right, Izzy. I think following the law, and keeping my family _safe_ , is right. You—” he pointed— “have the luxury of not having to think that way, because I do it. You aren’t the oldest, you don’t have to worry,” he said, “about taking care of everyone, about how when things go wrong, it’s your fault. That’s on _me._ And you, and Jace, have _never_ understood or appreciated that.”

Izzy looked stricken, but Alec made himself keep going. “You run around helping faeries and nerdy vampires and, and wayward ginger shadowhunters, and why worry about the consequences? The broken rules? Because that’s Alec’s job! It’s so normal now that you don’t even notice! You and, and Jace don’t think about who looks out for you, and then you turn around and get on a high horse with me about how rigid and immoral I am, when—when, if I didn’t fret, if I didn’t do what I thought was ‘right,’ you both would have been convicted, stripped of your runes, and out on your asses _years_ ago!”

Isabelle was staring, her mouth slightly open. “Alec, I...” She unfolded her arms. “That’s not how I thought about it.”

“No,” said Alec, turning around and walking to the bench. He tossed his gloves down on it. “You didn’t think about it at all.”

He picked up his water bottle and drank; he wasn’t sweating, but his mouth was dry. Izzy sat down on the bench. She fiddled with her gloves.

“Well, no,” she said. “I mean, I guess I didn’t think about it from your perspective. But I wasn’t _not_ thinking about you,” she said. She was fussing with the gloves, which it seemed Alec had tied too tight at the beginning of practice. She was couldn’t untie them. “The way I see it, when I nag you, I’m looking out for you. Not criticizing your morality.”

His sister bit the lace between her teeth, trying to loosen it. “How’s that?” asked Alec flatly.

“It,” she said around the lace, and Alec sighed, beckoning. She held up her glove for him. “I do see you struggling, Alec, with all the rules in your life. I know it’s a burden.” He raised his eyebrows, tugging one lace free. The knot unraveled. “But I don’t think living in this cage of obligation is good for you. I think you would be happier, be more yourself, if you could do what you thought was right-- _really_ right for you.”

Alec didn’t meet her eyes. He beckoned, and she held out her other hand.

“You hear what I’m saying, Alec?” she asked as he loosened the tie on her other glove. “I don’t want you to think I’m shitting on your moral choices, because the choice to take care of your family and be the quote-unquote ‘responsible’ one _is_ a moral choice. Plenty of older siblings act out and let their younger ones take on the burden. You never have. You chose to play that role, to be strong so we wouldn’t have to. And I appreciate that, and I know Jace does too. But now, it’s time to let go... to let us make our own mistakes.”

She leaned forward, trying to catch his eye. He finished untying the knot and dropped her hand, begrudgingly meeting her gaze.

“It’s time to start taking care of _yourself_ , big brother.”

He narrowed his eyes. She was right, maybe. Half of him agreed. The other half said “self-care” was an excuse for negligence.

He sighed and sat down next to his sister. “I’m... not sure about that, Izzy,” he said. He buried his face in his hands. “I’m not sure about anything.”

“Mm,” she said, and Alec felt a pat on his knee.

He rubbed his eyelids with his sore hands. His mind jumped again to the bookmarked poem waiting for him in his room.

“How’s Magnus?” she asked gently.

Alec lowered his hands and opened his eyes.

“Not sure,” said Alec.

“Did you guys have a good talk yesterday?”

“Sort of,” said Alec. “He gave me a poem.”

“He wrote you a _poem_?”

“No no, a book of poems,” Alec clarified. “He gave me a book of poems, with one of his favorite poems, he said.”

“Did you read it?” said Izzy.

Alec shook his head. “No. Sort of. I started to...”

“You should finish it, Alec,” Izzy said.

“I’m not sure I should,” Alec said. “I... he... he’s wasting his time on me. I won’t ever be able to...”

“Alec,” she said gently. “You _could._ You can’t live in fear like this.”

“No, it’s not that,” said Alec. “It’s not the... stigma. Not mom and dad, not the downworlder stigma or the, the gender stigma. That’s not what I’m most worried about. What I'm afraid of is that if we actually—if we actually did get together, it wouldn’t be as good as I... always hoped. As good as Magnus hopes. That after all this it would be... a letdown.”

He looked over at Izzy, who stared back sadly.

“I just feel like I’m pinning so much on our connection, like I’m imagining how perfect things would be if we were together. But in reality, maybe they wouldn’t be. I hardly know him, he hardly knows _me._ At best that’s all we have. A connection. At best..." he said brokenly, “we have a possibility. It’s not enough.”

Izzy put her hand on his arm. “It is,” she said. “It is enough. It’s enough to try.”

* * *

_“I’m just tired of it, Alec,” said Magnus hotly. “All of it. The secrecy, the broken plans, the silence—I’m tired of it.”_

_“But when we started, you said—”_

_“I know what I said,” said Magnus. Alec glared down at Magnus’s sequined shoes. “It was to make you comfortable. A relationship on our own terms, without prying eyes. And for a while it worked. But it’s been long enough, and you’re clearly comfortable—too comfortable—with the way things are. I am not. It’s time to go public, or—or it’s over.”_

_Alec looked up, stunned. “...Over?”_

_Across the table from him, Magnus folded his arms. They were in the kitchen of his loft. His face was stony but there were tears in his eyes._

_“Yes, Alec. I care about you, but this is no way to live. No way to love.”_

_“I don’t want to tell anyone,” Alec began, for the hundredth time, “not because I’m ashamed, but because i want to—”_

_“To protect me? From your parents? Spare me, Alec.”_

_“No, that’s exactly it. You don’t know them like I do, the Clave, the whole community, the judgment—your diplomatic role, your business, your standing would be destroyed—”_

_“No Alec. Your standing,” said Magnus. “No matter how nicely you put it, actions speak louder. You say you’re protecting me, but what you’re doing truly protects you. And even if you don’t consciously think it, your behavior means you are—you are ashamed of our relationship. Ashamed of me.”_

_Alec opened his mouth and stared. He felt like a trapdoor was opening under him. Was it true? Was that really how he felt, deep down? As that door opened, opening on all the truths he hadn’t been brave enough to acknowledge, and maybe it was a true diagnosis of his unconscious prejudice, but more importantly he now saw, he had hurt Magnus. Even if he hadn’t meant to. Hurt him in a deep, under-the skin intimate way. To say he loved him only behind closed doors, because he loved him only as much as he loved the approval—or feared the disapproval—of his community._

_The yawning gap was opening in his chest and he wanted to put words around it but Magnus’s eyes were already dropping, no longer full of tears. Magnus was standing._

_“I think you’d better go,” he said quietly._

_Alec looked up at him, his mouth still open. Magnus met his eyes, and shook his head._

_“Your silence is answer enough, Alec,” he said. “I think you’d better go.”_

Someone was shaking his shoulder. Alec jerked awake. He’d dozed off, reading in the library. The Eliot book was open in his lap. He fumbled it shut.

“Alec, hey.” It was Hodge. “Meeting time. They’re gonna brief us on the plan and hand out assignments.”

“Mm,” said Alec, blinking. “Be right there.”

Hodge clapped his shoulder and left the room. Alec rubbed his eyes. These dreams were going to drive him nuts. The pieces he remembered—a kitchen, Magnus frowning—were slipping away, but as usual, the feeling stayed with him. He felt guilty and scared. He gave the book of poems a last look and tucked it in his pocket.

He made his way to the conference room, where Lydia was explaining the plan. It involved a complex net of wards and traps around a very public spot downtown, and a decoy cup. Clary was to get in touch, tell Valentine she would make the trade: her mother for the cup. They would meet, Clary would give him the decoy cup, and as soon as Valentine touched it, the spell would be activated and paralyze him. Then the shadowhunters would swoop in, cuff him, and portal him back to Idris.

“Any questions?” asked Lydia. Next to him, Hodge raised a hand. Alec was trying to listen, but his mind was still full from the talk with Izzy and the feeling of the little book in his breast pocket, pressed up against his chest. His heart beating against it. _It’s enough. It’s enough to try._

“So what exactly _will_ the New York Institute be doing?” Hodge was asking testily.

“Once again,” said Lydia, “We appreciate your willingness. But as a group, the New York Institute needs to remember that this is a Clave operation. You are assisting us. If everything goes to plan, your Institute will return to a more normal level of self-sufficiency. Until then, you are on probation.” Lydia pursed her lips, and added, “And I’m not going to explain it again. For this particular plan, we need your help as a reserve force, as well as help hiring the necessary contacts to set up the wards. I will speak with specific people about that after the main meeting.”

Hodge re-folded his arms, fiddling with a ring on his finger.

“Any other questions?”

No one moved.

“Excellent. You can all go and start preparations, except you, and you. I need to ask you about local contacts. Please meet me in the main office in five minutes.” She pointed to two of Alec’s colleagues. Not him. Alec swallowed. Everyone began moving out of the room, but Izzy’s words echoed in his mind. About making decisions for his own sake.

Reassured by the slight weight of the book on his chest, he moved towards Lydia. “Lydia,” he said. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” she said, not looking up from her notes. “What’s up?”

“I um.” Alec cracked his knuckles. “I was hoping I could do a little more than hang back. I know my family name isn’t in great shape, but I’m the only one with a clean record, and anything I can do to help—I’d really like to contribute.”

Lydia looked up. “To get a head start on repairing the reputation?”

“Yeah,” he said.

She nodded. “That makes sense. Did you have something specific in mind?”

“Well, I have local contacts. I can give you my list.”

“That would be great,” said Lydia. “And you know what else actually? I was going to do this myself, but you can take over: the decoy cup. It needs a powerful enchantment, and a powerful enchanter. I was planning to hire Magnus Bane.”

Alec’s heart skipped a beat.

“He handled the Forsaken exam and the new Institute wards well, and he seems trustworthy and knowledgeable,” she said. “What do you think?” Her tone was businesslike, but her eyes searched his. Alec wondered suddenly if Lydia knew. If she could tell.

“Uh, yeah,” said Alec. “Yeah he definitely, he could definitely handle it.”

“Great. Can you contact him tonight?” she asked, flipping through her notepad.

“Yeah,” said Alec. “Yes, I can. I’ll fill him in on the operation and see if he’s willing.”

“The details should stay vague,” said Lydia She was pulling out an envelope. “I’ll write a letter with the need-to-know info.”

“Do you want me to negotiate price?” Alec asked.

“That’s okay, I won’t play hardball with the price,” said Lydia, writing. “The more generous we are, the safer our secrets.”

*  *  *

On the train, Alec tapped the envelope restlessly against his leg. He had texted Magnus after his meeting with Lydia, asking about his availability for a Clave operation. The warlock had replied immediately, inviting Alec to meet him at his loft at his earliest convenience. He had opted for mundane transport so he could have time to think, and to take another stab at the poem. He didn’t feel like he understood it, or Magnus, or anything.

“Do I dare / Disturb the universe? / In a minute there is time / For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.”

He stared at the words on the page, nearly a century old. The words Magnus had trusted him with. Okay, clearly the narrator of this poem was struggling with indecisiveness—was Magnus trying to drop a hint? Tell Alec to pony up and make a move already? After his talk with Izzy, he felt like he knew what he had to do. He just didn’t feel brave enough to actually do it.

“And indeed there will be time,” said the poem, “To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” / Time to turn back and descend the stair, / With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —”

“Shut up,” muttered Alec. “I know.”

*  *  *

“Alexander,” Magnus said after opening the door. “Clever of the Institute to send you to negotiate. They know my weakness.” He gestured him into the apartment.

“Hi Magnus,” said Alec stiffly, stepping through into the living room. It was softly lit and smelled good, Alec thought. Heady and sweet but sharp. A hint of sandalwood. _Focus, Lightwood._

He turned to face the warlock. “No negotiation necessary. Lydia is offering a price she’s sure you’ll find generous.”

Alec held out the envelope, and Magnus took it. He opened it, read the check, and raised his eyebrows. He unfolded the letter, and, eyes on the paper, flopped down on an armchair. “Sit, please,” Magnus said without looking up. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Alec still hadn’t decided if his visit was going to be strictly business, so he stuttered at the question. “Uh—uh, thank you but I—sure. Yes.”

Magnus snapped his fingers, still reading, and a glass of wine appeared in Alec’s hand. He sat down on the edge of the couch but did not drink. He watched the warlock, slouched on the armchair. Magnus’s jaw clenched and unclenched. A stray strand of hair fell across his forehead, dancing near his eyelids. Alec swallowed. It was one thing daydreaming about that hair, his jawline, or the collarbone peeking out of his silk shirt, but actually _seeing_ Magnus was... He took a swallow of wine. _Do I dare?_

Magnus finished reading Lydia’s letter, and re-folded it. He didn’t sit up though, staying slouched in the chair and twirling the paper slowly between his hands. He looked at Alec. Alec tried to breathe and not blush.

“What do you think?” Alec said.

“What did you think of my poem?” countered Magnus.

“Um,” said Alec. “I don’t think I understood it.”

“But you read it?” said Magnus, sitting up. “Did you like it?”

“I think so,” said Alec, pulling it out of his pocket.. “I liked the, um, words. But shadowhunters don’t get a lot of literary education—”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Magnus, waving a hand. “Poetry has rules, and knowing those can give you a certain depth of understanding, but real poetry, good poetry, you can _feel_.”

Alec fiddled with the corner of the book.

“That poem in particular gives me a healthy dose of anxiety, I think,” said Magnus. “Every time I read it, I examine my life, my choices. Think about whether I’m letting fear make decisions for me.”

Alec frowned. Was Magnus really talking about himself?

“Are you still feeling the effects from the portal?” Magnus asked, changing the subject unexpectedly.

“Um, yeah, actually,” said Alec. “I think it’s been giving me weird dreams.”

“What kind of dreams?” asked Magnus. His eyebrow arched suggestively.

“That’s personal,” said Alec automatically. “They... well, I don’t remember them very clearly. Just the feelings.” He looked at Magnus.

“What kind of feelings?”

“It varies.”

Magnus smiled a little.

“So guarded, even after all this,” he said. “So private.”

“After all what?” Alec said flatly, but his heart stuttered.

“All this,” said Magnus, gesturing at the air between them. “I gave you a poem, I bared my soul a little—you read the poem, you listened. You came here to see me, obviously of your own volition. Not ready for dream sharing?”

“How do you know it was my own volition?” said Alec.

“I don’t think you do anything you don’t want to, Alexander,” said Magnus. “You seem very strong-willed.”

“Do you really think that?” asked Alec. “You gave me a poem about being paralyzed with indecision. Sounds more like you’re dropping a hint.” Alec stood up abruptly.

Magnus raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Alec, standing, folded his arms and stared down at the warlock. He sat only a few feet away. It felt like miles.

“I don’t think you do anything you don’t want to,” Magnus repeated, “But I also know you stop yourself from doing some things you _do_ want to.”

Alec’s heart skipped a beat.

“You don’t know what I want,” he said.

“Do you?” asked Magnus.

He stood up. Alec swallowed.

“I’m not sure,” he said. But he was pretty sure.

Magnus stepped towards him.

“‘For I have known them all already, known them all,’” he murmured.

“‘Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,’” Alec continued the quote without thinking.

Magnus smiled. “You did read it,” he said softly.

He was very close now. Alec’s heart was thumping in his throat.

“Of course I did,” he replied quietly.

Magnus looked up at him. He had stopped moving, and his face was about two feet from Alec’s. Far enough to step away easily, but close enough to lean...

But Magnus didn’t lean, or step away. He just stood. With a clench in his stomach, Alec realized Magnus was giving him a choice. A choice—to walk away, or to take a leap.

Alec’s heart was thumping. He didn’t know what to do. Opening that door meant letting in a new wave of dangers and insecurities, stigmas and romantic pitfalls. A million new ways for things to go wrong. A million ways to be disappointed. To disappoint Magnus.

“Magnus...” he said quietly, searching the warlock’s eyes. His own eyes slipped, despite himself, down to Magnus’s lips. They were so round and perfect and just a tiny bit smug, so stupidly cute. They were so close that he could hear Magnus breathing. Could smell his sandalwood smell.

His eyes flicked back up to Magnus’s, which gazed back warmly. The door loomed before him. Alec flinched first.

“Magnus, thank you for this,” he said, and held out the book. “I liked reading it.”

Magnus’s face froze. He reached out and took the book.

“I hope you can do what Lydia’s requesting,” said Alec. “And I look forward to working with you on the operation. And you can um, reach out to me with any questions. If you want to.”

Magnus stared into his eyes for another moment before shaking his head.

“No, Alexander. I think it would be best if I... directed my questions elsewhere.”

This time Alec did blush. He didn’t know why.

Magnus was stepping back, still holding the book. “You’d better head home. I suppose I’ll see you around.”

He nodded. He had hurt and disappointed Magnus, just as he’d known he would, sooner or later.

“Right,” he said. “See you, then.” He turned and walked towards the door. Alec tried to breathe as he walked out, but each breath hurt. As he approached, it opened with a small flurry of blue sparks. He turned one last time, and saw Magnus setting the book down. Alec left and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Moonlight glowed from the diamond-shaped window on the infirmary door. Alec hesitated, then entered.

“Hey, Jace.”

Alec crossed the long room. His parabatai lay still, his chest rising steadily. The moonlight from the stained glass windows lit him like a statute. The demon poison was almost gone from his blood, but between shock and trauma and interdimensional movement, Jace was still out. Alec folded his arms.

“The doctors say you’ll wake up any day now, but I don’t blame you for staying asleep. Things are crazier than ever. And if I found out my father was really Valentine... I don’t think I’d be able to get out of bed. Ever.”

Alec sighed. It felt silly to talk to someone comatose, but if anyone could hear him from beyond the veil, it would be Jace.

“Maybe you’re staying unconscious so I’ll stop being mad at you,” Alec went on. “Well a lot of other stuff has happened since you’ve been gone, so maybe it’s that. But I’m not mad, not anymore.”

He chewed his lip. Jace breathed softly.

“I’ve been unfair to you and Izzy,” Alec said. “I took care of you but I let all this resentment build up inside. I thought it was more important to look out for others than myself, I thought that was the only way to be a good person. But there’s a way to be both good _and_ externally selfish, I think, to convince yourself you’re being altruistic, when, one way or another, you’re serving your interests and your self-image. It’s... it’s complicated.” Alec sighed. “But if you want to talk things out, I won’t beat you up. I’m ready to talk.”

Maybe it was his imagination, but his hip prickled. His parabatai rune.

“I’m ready to talk, Jace. I need to," Alec said, "to talk to you. Come back soon.”

 

_...and i could wish that i lied,_

_when i said i lost your heart--_

_so long the days_

_that melt away_

_so loud the words_

_you could not say_

 

_*    *    *_

_[[title from](http://davidfosterwallaceandgromit.tumblr.com/post/142615718303) ; [epigraph from](https://youtu.be/-PkTfwACyBQ) ; [magnus’s poem](http://people.virginia.edu/~sfr/enam312/prufrock.html) ]_


	3. Under the Bridge

_Between the desire_

_And the spasm_

_Between the potency_

_And the existence_

_Between the essence_

_And the descent_

_Falls the Shadow_

 

3A.

It’s time.

 _Alec pulled on his gloves and cracked his knuckles. They had all known this day was coming; now it was here. He patted his pockets—yep, he had everything—took one last breath, and left his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He strode down the wood paneled hall and out the training room floor, thinking,_ This could be the last time I see this _, and at the same time,_ Don’t think like that.

_His phone buzzed—Magnus._

I’m here, _read the text._

_He pocketed the phone and continued towards the the front door. Around him, other shadowhunters and Clave members bustled, making final preparations and barking orders. He passed through, down the marble lobby, and with a final exhale, pushed out the church doors and into the night._

_He found his boyfriend waiting just outside, anxiously fiddling with his necklace. Yes, his one, singular necklace—Magnus in battle gear meant business and looked it. The rational part of Alec’s brain was focused on the battle ahead, but a tiny voice said,_ your boyfriend looks cute in leather.

_“Hey.”_

_Magnus turned, and smiled. “Darling.”_

_“I like the sequin shoes,” said Alec. “Practical.”_

_“I can’t go sacrificing_ everything _for this war,” said Magnus._

_Alec smiled. He reached out and took Magnus’s hand. He looked down at their palms, where Clary’s binding rune was still fresh. They lined up their symbols and twined their fingers together silently. For a moment they stood facing each other, on the streetlit steps. Voices inside called to each other, and voices babbled outside the portal crackling on the lawn. An alarm rang, then stopped. Alec stared into Magnus’s eyes._

_“Magnus,” he began, “If this is the last time we—”_

_“Hush,” said Magnus squeezing his hand. “Everything will be fine.”_

_“It’s a battle Magnus,” he said. “Shadowhunters and downworlders versus Valentine and the seelies. It might not be fine.”_

_“So serious,” said Magnus absently, raising a hand and brushing Alec's hair from his forehead, “always so serious...”_

_“Listen, in case—in case something goes wrong out there,” said Alec, “I just need you to know that I...”_

_“I know, Alexander,” said Magnus softly. His hand came to rest on Alec’s neck. “I know.”_

_Alec stared pleadingly at him, not knowing how to go on. Of course he knew. But how could they just—_

_Magnus was leaning up, and pulling Alec down. Alec closed his eyes, but to his surprise, felt the kiss on his forehead. Magnus's lips pressed gently against his skin. A shiver ran down his spine._

_As Magnus leaned back, Alec touched the spot his boyfriend had kissed—it felt cold and hot._ _“What was that?” Alec asked._

_“For good luck,” said Magnus._

_“Was that a spell?”_

_Magnus just tugged him towards the portal. Alec followed. Armed shadowhunters were entering one by one, and as they approached, Alec heard the muffled sounds of battle on the other side. Maybe it was his imagination or his nervous heartbeat, but his palm was pulsing where it was pressed against Magnus’s. The two mirrored runes beat in sync._

_When Raj waved them forward to enter the portal, Alec gave Magnus a look and a last squeeze and let go. But Magnus did not let go, gripping his hand. Alec felt a twinge in his heart and renewed his grip. Magnus smiled gratefully._

_“Don’t worry,” Alec said. “We go together.”_

_“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Alexander,” said Magnus. And together they stepped through._

“Everyone, we’re at t-minus two hours,” said a voice, and Alec nodded awake. He had fallen asleep at the conference room table after a late night of final checks. He was drawn back to the world with a bizarrely peaceful feeling, much more peaceful than he should have felt the day of the Valentine operation. Either one of his alternate selves was having a great life, or had straight up died. The relief from the dream was a small comfort in the face of everything.

The shadowhunters around him were tired and antsy. Hodge was moving about them, passing out earpieces and communication equipment. On the wall, one screen displayed photos of the fountain where the exchange would take place; another had arrows and boxes representing the team positions around the fountain.

It was a meticulous plan—Lydia was good at her job. In the day since his talk with Magnus, she had asked him for help on other small tasks, so he didn’t feel useless, which Alec appreciated. But he still couldn’t concentrate. A feeling of oppressive heaviness sank onto him when he thought of Magnus—standing alone in his loft, eyes wide. _It’s for the best,_ he told himself. _It was fine, fantasizing for a while, but it’s over now. You need to focus on your job, on your engagement._ So that’s what he was doing.

Lydia appeared next to him. “Ready?” she said quietly. He nodded.

“Okay people,” she said loudly, “Start moving out. In staggered groups like we discussed. Gold team in the lobby in five, gray in fifteen.”

Alec was not in a group, but he would be in the control room with Lydia. “What time are we going?” he asked her.

“After the last team,” said Lydia. “Half an hour.”

* * *

“I’ll be fine Izzy, please, don’t worry. I’m in the box, not on the battlefield.”

“I know, but I still want you to take it!”

“There won’t be any demons!”

“And this way, you’ll be sure of that!”

They were bickering in the weapons room. Izzy pressed the necklace into his hand.

“Fine!” said Alec, taking it. “But I’m not wearing it.”

“Oh yes, you are,” said Izzy. “Duck.” Alec sighed theatrically and lowered his head so she could clasp it around his neck. Before he could straighten up, Izzy wrapped him in a hug. Alec hesitated, then put his arms around her.

“Not used to heading into battle without you and Jace,” mumbled Alec into her shoulder. She nodded.

“This will be the first and last time,” Izzy promised. “Be brave, big brother.”

* * *

The control room was an enchanted pocket space under the bridge by the fountain, conjured up by a warlock named Catarina. It was tiny, barely large enough Lydia, Raj, two other Idris shadowhunters, and Alec. Barely. Alec was stuffed in the corner next to Lydia, trying to keep his giant legs out of everyone’s way. He fiddled with the earpiece Hodge had given him. It didn’t seem to be working.

His fiancée was running final position checks on the apprehension team, the backup team, and Clary. She was sitting on the edge of the fountain, holding the box containing Magnus’s fake cup. Alec found himself a little concerned for Clary, but confident she could handle things.

“There he is,” said Lydia into her earpiece. “Nine o’clock.”

They could see Valentine’s broad-shouldered figure approaching through the control room window, and through the camera on the rim of the fountain. He reached Clary. She stood.

Her mic crackled. “Where is my mother?” said Clary.

“Is that any way to greet your father?” said Valentine, coming to stand before her.

She narrowed her eyes. Even on the grainy camera feed, Alec recognized her familiar glare.

He put his hands on his hips. “I have her in a van on the street. I’ll take you to her once I see the cup.”

“Clary, don’t go anywhere with him,” Lydia said into the mic. “Show him the cup but don’t let him touch it. Not yet.”

Clary lifted the box and opened the lid. Magnus’s fake cup glittered. Alec’s heart thumped against Izzy’s necklace. Valentine bent, reaching for it, but Clary snapped the box shut.

“Not so fast,” she said.

Lydia spoke into her earpiece. “Gold team, stand by,” she said.

“How do I know it’s really the Mortal Cup?” said Valentine.

“How do I know you actually brought my mother?” said Clary.

“Let me verify the cup’s authenticity, then you can see her,” said Valentine smoothly. “I have no reason to trust you, Clarissa. Not yet.”

“You can let him touch it now,” said Lydia into the mic, then into her earpiece: “Gold team, on my signal.”

Clary opened the box again.

“Good girl.”

Valentine reached out, and picked up the cup.

For a long second, Alec's heart did not seem to beat. The whole control room held its breath.

Nothing happened.

Clary stared, frozen, as Valentine lifted the cup, examining it.

Alec’s hand flew to Lydia’s arm. “That’s the real cup,” he said. “It’s not the decoy—someone switched it.”

Lydia’s eyes widened.

Clary moved like lightning. She kicked Valentine’s knee, buckling him in his distraction. He yelped as she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pushed him to his knees, her dagger at his throat.

“Put it down,” she said. She had figured it out too. “Put the cup down and put your hands up.”

“Not going according to plan, eh?” said Valentine with a strained laugh. “Now!”

He waved his free hand and a buzzing shriek filled the room. The lights surged and sparked, and the screens went haywire. Raj and the two other shadowhunters in the control room cried out and clasped their ears, crumpling to the ground. Lydia yelled too, but ripped out her earpiece. Alec tore his out too, heart racing—but it hadn’t made a sound. For a wild second he thought of Magnus, of a protective spell, burning on his forehead. The memory came from nowhere and vanished just as quickly.

Lydia was hunched over the desk, breathing hard. She scrunched her face and whacked her ear once, twice, then turned to Alec with a look of horror. “I can’t—he—” she began, and then collapsed too.

Alec dropped to the floor and checked her pulse—she was alive. So were the others. He looked up around the room, adrenaline pumping. All the video and audio feeds were static, meaning the surge had likely hit the whole team. But for some reason, his earpiece seemed to still be working. Alec stood and looked out the window. He could still see them, Valentine on his knees, Clary behind him, holding the dagger to his throat. He fumbled for the main mic.

“Clary, can you hear me? Come in Clary.”

“Is that a Lightwood I hear?” said Valentine’s voice. Alec’s eyebrows shot up. It was coming through the speakers. How?

“This is the acting head of the New York Institute,” said Alec. “Return the cup now, and we will allow you to leave.”

“Is that Alec?” said Clary’s muffled voice. “Alec?” She looked towards where she knew he was, invisible under the bridge.

“Counter offer,” said Valentine. “You let me leave, with the cup, because if you don’t, a few thousand more volts goes through each of those special-issue earpieces.”

Alec’s heart raced. How could Valentine have rigged their equipment from the outside? And who had switched the cups?

A memory rose to his mind. Hodge handing him his earpiece an hour before. “This one’s an older model, but I’ve got it tuned to the right frequency,” he had said.

“And yes, you could remove the headsets of those nearest you,” Valentine was saying, “But if my source is correct, that leaves at least twenty other shadowhunters, currently unconscious and exposed, to get electrocuted.”

He was right. Alec had to think fast. He muted the main mic and hit the B-channel button on his own earpiece, praying the backup team's equipment was still working. “Come in beta team. This is control.”

“Alec?”

“Dispatch all units to relieve the alpha teams. They’ve been disabled. Remove their earpieces. Radio me when they are accounted for and have their earpieces _removed._ ”

“Roger.”

He turned the main mic back on.

“Hodge,” said Alec.

“Smart boy,” said Valentine. “Not too good at his job, though, since he left one standing. I didn’t plan on any _negotiations_.” He said the last word with venom. “You’ve got ten seconds, boy. Order Clarissa to surrender and I’ll be on my way. Clarissa, you can come along too, if you like.”

“You’re stupider than you look if you think I’m going anywhere with you,” spat Clary.

 _Ten seconds. Ten seconds to decide._ Alec would have expected his mind to be racing, but instead it was calm and clear.

He stood and opened the door.

The invisible wall of their room shimmered and he was out in the sunlight. In a single motion, he stepped forward and nocked an arrow. Mundanes scattered. He strode towards Clary and Valentine, Isabelle’s necklace bouncing on his chest.

“What’ll it be, Lightwood?” called Valentine as he approached.

“Let him go, Clary,” said Alec. He pointed his arrow not at Valentine, but at Clary. “Step away.”

Clary opened her mouth to protest, but he looked her in the eye and gave a tiny shake of his head. By some miracle, she understood. 

She lowered her dagger and stepped back.

“Good choice,” said Valentine.

He rose, still gripping the cup, and dusted himself off.

“Well then,” he said. “I guess I’ll be on my way.”

Alec held his bow on him. “Call off Hodge. You’re not going anywhere until I know my people are safe.”

Valentine smiled. “Hodge, dear,” he said loudly. “Come out and show our friends you mean no harm.”

Hodge stepped out of the crowd of mundanes, a glamour fading. His hands were raised. His neck was healed. Alec’s stomach turned.

“You see? I keep my promises,” Valentine said. “And hear this, Lightwood boy. So long as we are on different sides, I promise you no one you love is safe.” He held up the cup and wiggled it. “And Clarissa... I’ll be back for you.”

“All clear,” said a voice in Alec’s ear. “The alpha teams are accounted for and we have removed their earpieces.”

Valentine’s eyes were still on Clary and Alec didn’t hesitate. He loosed an arrow at Valentine’s hand. Valentine cried out and the cup fell, shattering on the pavement. Clary jumped back as Valentine, face twisted with rage, lunged for her. Alec nocked another arrow, but Hodge—Hodge sprang forward and knocked Valentine to the ground. Valentine grasped at the shards of the cup, and Hodge fumbled something in his pocket, and then they both vanished.

Alec lowered his bow and rushed to Clary. “Are you okay?”

“He got away!” she said breathlessly.

“Are you,” said Alec, “ _okay?_ ”

“I’m fine!” said Clary. Her voice was high. “I—uh—he just—everything happened so fast...”

Alec bent down so he could look her in the eye. She was shaking and her eyes were swimming.

“I thought he was going to take me,” she said. “Like he did to my mom.”

“He didn’t,” said Alec. “You didn’t let him.”

Clary sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Yeah.” She took a shuddering breath and looked up at Alec. “We need to make sure everyone’s okay.”

 _Lydia_. “The backup team just got here,” said Alec, straightening up. He touched a hand absently to his forehead. “Let’s go.”

 

_[[title from](http://davidfosterwallaceandgromit.tumblr.com/post/142615718303) ; [epigraph from](https://www2.bc.edu/john-g-boylan/files/thehollowmen.pdf) ; [fountain where they stage the trap](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bethesda_Terrace_and_Fountain) ]_


	4. On the Bridge

_It’s enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment._

 3B.

Clary and Alec's debriefing lasted all evening and into the night. The Clave had a lot of questions about Valentine and his operation; they also had some stiff compliments for the New York backup force, but, as one said, the ideal course of action would have been the one that did _not_ break the cup.

“There wasn't any such course,” said Alec simply.

Debriefing finally adjourned so strategy meetings could start (shadowhunters who had just smashed their civilization's most precious artifact were not invited.) Released into the predawn halls of the Institute, Clary hurried off to the infirmary, while Alec was ambushed by his family. Max was in awe of his bravery, and his parents were proud of his leadership but unhappy he had broken the cup—but only Izzy’s words mattered:

“You did what you knew was right,” she said.

He pulled her into a hug.

“The necklace helped,” he said over her shoulder.

“Didn’t exactly bring good luck,” she said from somewhere near his armpit.

“It reminded me of you,” he said, letting go of her. “How you... believed in me.”

Izzy smiled. He moved to take it off, but she grabbed his arm.

“Wait—hold onto it.”

“Seriously? Don’t you want it back?”

“Soon,” she said. “But for now, keep remembering how I believe in you and stuff. Just for a little longer.” She raised her eyebrows towards something over his shoulder. Alec turned.

 _Magnus_. Alec's stomach dropped. Across the lobby, he saw him entering the meeting room with another warlock and a few other downworlders.

Izzy just gave his arm a final squeeze and moved away.

“Alec,” said another voice. Alec tore his eyes away from the door Magnus had just disappeared through, and saw Lydia.

“Hey,” said Alec, trying to regain control of his faculties. “Your hearing back?”

“Hey,” she said, frowning. “My ear is fine. Sorry we haven’t had a chance to talk. I guess I’ve been sort of embarrassed.”

“That you were backstabbed?” said Alec. “That’s not your fault.”

“But it feels like my fault,” said Lydia, folding her arms. Alec nodded. “I should have made a better contingency plan, I should have examined our reliance on certain equipment, I just—I just wish everything hadn’t gone to shit like that. It was such a tidy plan and I—” She broke off with a sigh. Alec shook his head sympathetically.

“It’s not your fault,” he said again. “Leadership isn’t about planning, not really. It’s more about putting out fires--That's what my siblings have taught me anyway. Accepting an unforeseen, unwanted situation and adapting, dealing with reality. Not getting caught up in what-ifs and if-onlys.”

And as he said it, his head cleared, like the sun chasing away clouds.

Lydia was looking up at him sadly. He put a hand on her shoulder. “You did your best.”

She smiled regretfully. “Thanks, Alec.”

He nodded stiffly.

“You’ve been a real friend and ally here in New York,” she said. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.” She put her hand on his, where it rested on her shoulder. “But listen. I think...”

“The engagement?” said Alec.

She nodded.

“It might be best for me to rise in the ranks... the normal way,” she said, looking him in the eye. “Through hard work. It’s what I’m good at. And you...”

Alec swallowed.

“You deserve to be happy. To have someone. I did, for a while, and even though it was a short while...” She dropped her gaze. “I wouldn’t trade that time for anything. And I wouldn’t want to take it away from someone else.”

Alec looked at Lydia, who was staring at her feet. His throat felt tight.

“Can’t believe you’re dumping me,” Alec finally managed. Lydia laughed, and patted his hand. He let it drop from her shoulder.

“Thank you, Alec,” Lydia said. “For everything. Next time you’re in Idris, don’t be a stranger.”

“Thanks, Lydia,” said Alec. “Next time I’m in Idris, you’ll be running the place.”

They smiled at each other for another moment. The life they had almost had together briefly hung between them, and then swung shut.

“Now,” said Lydia, straightening up, “I have some good news, for once. Jace woke up while you were in debriefing. And he’s asking for you.”

*  *  *

“Is he really awake?”

Alec jogged to a stop outside the infirmary, where Clary was pacing.

“Alec. Thank god you’re here. He’s awake, and well—being Jace. You have to talk to him.”

Alec made a face. She turned to open the door, but Alec put out a hand to stop her.

“Wait. Uh, Clary. How are you doing?”

“I’m... I’m okay,” she said, reluctantly meeting his eyes. She looked pale and tired. “A little less worried now that Jace is up.”

Alec nodded. “Listen, today was intense. You’re a shadowhunter, but you aren’t used to all this yet. It’s fine that you’re shaken up. But, Clary. I’m glad you had my back out there today. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else.” He put a hand on her arm. She stared up at him. “You’re going to be a great shadowhunter. You already _are_ great. We’re going to save your mom and then the world.”

“Wow,” said Clary. “You must be delirious from exhaustion.”

Alec gave a small smile. Then he jerked his head at the infirmary door. Clary nodded, and pushed it open.

“I don’t need to be here! I’ve been on my ass for over a week and now you won’t let me get up? This is some bull—”

“Jace!”

Jace looked over. He was being restrained by two doctors and another patient. He had a scalpel.

“Alec?”

Alec strode across the room.

“You’re awake,” he said. Jace stopped struggling and the doctors stepped warily back.

“You’re okay?” Jace asked.

“Me?” said Alec. “Of course I’m—what? Are _you?_ ”

Jace dropped the scalpel and jumped up, wrapping Alec in a sudden hug. Alec, surprised, embraced him awkwardly.

“I was so worried.”

“You were asleep.”

“I was having dreams, Alec. Bad dreams.”

Alec pulled away and held Jace at arm’s length. “Dreams?”

“Really vivid dreams,” said Jace. “Like, visions.”

“I think we should talk.” Alec looked over Jace at the hovering doctors. “Can he leave the infirmary for a little while?”

“He needs to—” began one angrily, but the other cut him off. “Yes. Bring him back before sunrise.”

“Come on, Jace.”

“Usual spot?”

“Yep.”

*   *   *

“I can’t believe Hodge,” Jace was saying. “All this time... Disgusting.”

“Well, he was essentially a prisoner,” said Alec. “He was caged up for almost twenty years. Hard to say no to a way out.”

They were on the Institute roof, facing east, watching the horizon turn gray. Jace was lying on his back, and Alec sat up next to him. He had just finished a retelling of the past week in full detail. Including his dreams, his arguments with Izzy and his... tense visits with Magnus. Jace, in turn, had re-told his experience being on the run: the portal, his ‘father,’ his real father, the vampires.

“Sure, but he still should have,” Jace muttered. “I guess giving you the earpiece was some kind of... redemption thing?”

“If he did it on purpose,” said Alec, rubbing his forehead. “I’m not sure he did.”

“Then why didn’t you get electrocuted?”

Alec shrugged. “I don’t know what happened." He glanced down at Jace. “But there is no way to know. I'll try not to lose sleep over it.”

There was a pause. Jace arched his back and stretched, yawning.

“So, interdimensional vision, huh?” he said. “Do you remember any of yours?”

“No details,” said Alec. “I would just wake up with, like, leftover feelings from the dreamworld. Like an emotional hangover,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “It was... unsettling.”

“Mm,” said Jace, stretching his arms.

Alec hesitated.

“Magnus was in a lot of them, I think,” he said.

“Mm...” said Jace, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Interesting.”

“Shut up,” said Alec.

“Come on Alec,” said Jace. “If you guys are together in multiple universes, don’t you think that’s a sign? Like, destiny?”

Alec sighed irritably. “It’s not about interdimensional destiny,” he said. “It’s about choices.”

Jace was silent.

“I have to...” Alec began, then trailed off.

“Have to what?”

“Nothing,” said Alec.

Jace didn’t push it.

“What about your dreams—do you remember anything?”

“No, same thing. Just the feeling,” Jace said. “I’m glad I don’t remember them. I think that would fuck me up. Knowing about different possible lives I could have had? The one I actually went to—the seelie portal—that was weird enough.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I think Clary and I were dating.”

“So you _weren’t_ siblings in that universe?” said Alec.

“I don’t know, man,” said Jace. “I don't want to talk about it right now.”

And Alec didn’t push it. He hugged his knees, and Jace closed his eyes. They sat in silence for a moment, Alec watching the yellow haze around New York City grow lighter.

“So listen,” began Jace, shifting. Alec looked over at him. “I owe you an apology. For at the City of Bones.” He opened his eyes and looked up at Alec. “I shouldn’t have brought up your feelings like that. I know you think hard about your choices, about taking sides, your engagement—not everything is about me. And it wasn’t fair of me to use that just to get under your skin. I should have let you be the one to bring it up. When you were ready to.”

Alec held his gaze for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m not sure I would have ever, though.”

“Still... I’m sorry.”

Alec looked away, resting his chin on his knees.

“It’s... It’s just hard,” said Alec. “For me to talk about this stuff. Especially with you. And I know, you’re my parabatai and my brother, so it should be the easiest with you. But this, it just...” He looked back at Jace. “I’m not sure I would have ever grown out of my, whatever, my feelings for you—if it wasn’t for—for Magnus. And I definitely would never have talked to you about it." He shook his head. "I’m not that brave.”

Jace gave him a pained look. “Alec, that’s bullshit. You’re the bravest person I know.”

Alec huffed a laugh. “Besides you.”

“No, I mean it!” said Jace, sitting up. “You follow your own code, you don’t care what others think. I talk a big game, but I still live for the accolades. The reputation. You do what _you_ think is right.”

“And yet, that somehow always aligns with the status quo?” Alec said. “No... I just hide behind the rules.”

“Not always,” says Jace. “You usually _happen_ to agree with the rules. But maybe, these days, that’s a little harder. Maybe, these days... you might consider breaking some. To uphold _your_ code.”

Alec turned and looked at his parabatai. Jace looked back. Alec realized with a pang how he had missed this—the ease of their communication. Their mutual, fundamental understanding.

“What was it you started to say earlier?” Jace asked. “Something about...”

“About fate and choices?” Alec knew what he meant. “Yeah.” Alec took a deep breath and looked away. “I need to make a conscious choice, not get swept up in a moment or some wild idea of destiny. Some imaginary love story that might not even come true. I can either,” he said, “Focus on work and restoring the Lightwood name—by some route other than marriage, since that’s off the table—or I can... give Magnus the answer he’s hoping for.” He looked at Jace. “I can choose to give a relationship a try. I’ve never had a relationship with anyone, and there’s a lot riding on this. But it could be nothing. I don’t know. Maybe it’ll fizzle out after a week. Maybe we’ll have a, a huge fight and never speak again. But before that can happen, I have to try.” His heart was racing from just saying it aloud. “I’m just. I just don’t think I have the nerve to really try it.”

Jace frowned sympathetically. “You’re brave, Alec,” said Jace. “Brave enough for anything. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Alec didn’t reply. Jace leaned over and put his head on Alec’s shoulder, and together they sat, leaning against each other, watching the sky grow brighter.

*  *  *

The sun was almost above the horizon when they came out the attic trapdoor. “You think the meeting is over yet?” Jace said.

“Don’t know,” said Alec. “It’s been hours. You need to get back to the infirmary.”

Jace rolled his eyes.

“At least let me take you to the lobby and see if your warlock is there.”

They walked down the silent halls in sync, Jace moving slow from his recovery. The whole Institute was hushed in that pre-dawn way, quiet and out of focus. That desaturated glow that makes everything feel a little unreal, a tick out of time with the world. Alec bumped his parabatai’s shoulder with his, tethering himself to this earth. _It’s time,_ he told himself.

When they stepped into the lobby, the spell of morning stillness was broken. Officials from the Clave and the Downworld chattered in urgent knots, agents scuttling back and forth, and Izzy was striding towards them. “Jace!” she cried, and they hugged. She let go of her stepbrother and turned to Alec breathlessly. “Alec! I’ve been looking for you!”

“Why?”

“Magnus came out when the meeting adjourned a few minutes ago, and asked if I had seen you.” Izzy said. “I said no, and he said oh, and left.”

Alec’s heart had started to race.

“I was going to talk to him,” said Alec. “He’s gone?”

“He left for the train,” said Izzy. “You can still catch him if you hurry—if you want to.”

Alec stared down the hall, at the front door. His blood was rushing in his ears.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

He tore his eyes away from the door and looked at his siblings one last time. Izzy looked at him, down at the necklace, then back up at him. He nodded, turned, and went.

Alec strode towards the door, his boots loud on the marble floor. His heart was thumping. He broke into a jog, and was at the door in seconds. He pushed it open and hurtled out into the dawn air.

Alec flew down the steps to the churchyard gate—which way? Where would Magnus go? The metro? He looked to the right, the fastest route to the train station. The sidewalk was empty. Was he too late?

Alec looked to the left. _The park._

If he knew Magnus—and he barely did—something told him the warlock would take a little detour to walk through a park.

Alec flew down the block. Buildings flashed by, then hedges. He had to catch him.

He skidded to a stop at the ivy-covered gate and pushed it open. The little park was empty at this hour, dotted with trees and flowerbeds, a sliver of artificial river and—

A bridge.

 _There_.

Alec’s breath caught.

Standing on the bridge, hands in his overcoat pockets, was Magnus. He cast a long shadow in the first rays of yellow sun.

“Magnus!” he shouted.

Magnus turned, and saw him.

Alec’s feet were moving again and he was jogging down the path towards the bridge. He jumped over a low fence marked _Keep off the Grass!_ and crossed the lawn, not taking his eyes off the warlock.

“Alexander?”

Alec was almost there.

“What are you doing here?” Magnus said. Alec jumped over the last fence, mounted the three steps to the bridge, and strode towards Magnus.

“Sorry for making you wait,” said Alec breathlessly, and he didn’t stop moving. He reached Magnus, and his hands found the warlock’s collar, and Alec pulled Magnus in and kissed him.

For a second, as their lips pressed together, Alec’s mind went absolutely blank. The sky seemed to rush up towards him like he was falling into it. Then Magnus sighed, tipping his head, and Alec became aware of every inch of contact between them. His round nose pressing against Alec’s cheek. His hands where they came to rest on Alec’s waist. His heart beating against Alec’s wrists. And his soft, perfect lips, kissing Alec’s.

They broke apart. Alec let go of Magnus’s coat and slid his hands down to rest above Magnus’s elbows. Magnus’s eyes were still closed, a tiny smile dancing on his mouth. Alec was dizzy and his lungs were full of helium.

“Alexander...” sighed Magnus, opening his eyes, and Alec instinctively leaned in again, but Magnus held up a finger. “Wait,” he said. “Where is this coming from? It’s been weeks. What changed?”

Alec opened his mouth, then closed it. There was so much to explain... but they would have time.

“I had to choose,” he finally said. “I knew how I felt, but I didn’t think I had the strength to act on it. I’m not used to making choices for myself—I mean for, for _me_ —In short... I was afraid.”

Magnus started to smile.

“And you aren’t afraid anymore?”

“I’m terrified,” said Alec. “Look.” He let go of Magnus and held out his hands. They were shaking. He sort of expected Magnus to take his hands, but the warlock did not. He just looked back up at Alec.

“I want to be with you, Alec,” said Magnus in a low voice. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. But I need to be with someone... who _wants_ to be with me.”

Alec’s breath caught. “I do,” he said. “I want to. I want to try.” He tried to put his mouth around why. There were so many reasons. “You—I just—you’ve given me so many chances. More than I deserve, maybe. But your generosity—among other things it just, I—” Alec huffed a sigh. Speaking coherently to Magnus was so damn hard. “You’re so generous with me, Magnus. I don’t know why. And you’re funny and sweet and caring, and different and not afraid to be different, I... I can’t believe you waited this long for me. I’m sorry I had to fight through seven levels of fear and insecurity and poetry to get here but I’m ready, now, if you’re still... If you still want... me.”

He looked down at Magnus. Magnus looked back. His eyes and stray strands of hair glowed in the yellow sunlight. His lips parted, like he was going to answer.

“And I—” Alec ducked his head and fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I brought you something,” he said, holding it out. “Like I said, not much literary education. But it’s a poem I like, that I thought you might enjoy...”

Magnus took it and tore his eyes from Alec, looking down at the paper: “Oda al Gato” by Pablo Neruda. _Ode to the Cat._ His eyes widened.

“It’s about a cat,” said Alec, embarrassed. “Not exactly romantic, but I know you like cats so I thought—”

Magnus threw his arms around Alec’s neck and kissed him. A sigh escaped him and he responded in kind, wrapping his arms around the warlock’s back. Joy flooded Alec’s whole body. They were kissing, _really kissing—_ and it was better than he’d dreamed. Magnus’s sweet, electric smell filled his nose and mouth. He slid his hand down Magnus’s back, curving his body into his own, and deepened the kiss. Magnus’s hands found Alec’s hair and and he ran his fingers through it. Their lips moved together, deeper and more familiar this time—now, at last, on the same page.

At length, they broke apart, Alec landing one last kiss before Magnus drew him into an embrace. Magnus’s arms slid around Alec’s back, under his jacket, and pulled him close. He hugged the warlock back, feeling his strong frame and his heart beating between their chests. Magnus buried his face against the side of his neck, breathing just below Alec’s ear. Maybe it was relief, or exhaustion, but he felt suddenly overwhelmed. Alec tightened his hold on Magnus and pressed his face into the crook of his shoulder. He closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of sandalwood and the sound of Magnus’s steady breath. He didn't know what the future held for them. But he was going to find out.

Standing on the bridge, in the hush of the awakening city, wrapped in the yellow fog of morning, they held each other.

*  *  *

Alec returned to the Institute a little less than an hour later, birdsong following him home. He was giddy and exhausted and flushed, and there was a difficult conversation to be had with his parents soon, and a silly conversation to be had with his siblings and many, many conversations to be had with Magnus—but now, he would sleep.

He did not dream.

* * *

_[[title from](http://davidfosterwallaceandgromit.tumblr.com/post/142615718303) ; [epigraph from](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/315847-it-s-enough-for-me-to-be-sure-that-you-and) ; [alec’s poem](http://www.neruda.uchile.cl/obra/obranavyregresos2.html) & [translation](http://pramidasworld.blogspot.ca/2012/05/pablo-nerudas-ode-to-cat.html) ]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY everyone thank you so much for reading. I was as I said, very nervous about posting this, but everyone's been really kind and supportive so thank you so much. I'm planning a sequel, basically a season two rewrite, cause i can't wait till 2017... so stay tuned for that! in the meantime hmu on [tumblr!](davidfosterwallaceandgromit.tumblr.com)
> 
> UPDATE: the sequel is finally done! part two of this series. a lot longer and with more plot and more of the full cast. hope y'all like it and thanks again for reading <3


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